


All Turns to Silver Glass

by MagitekUnit05953234



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Developing Relationship, M/M, Post-Altissia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Ideation, discussion of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21817033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagitekUnit05953234/pseuds/MagitekUnit05953234
Summary: “Am I to assume you are more than a… hallucination?”Not that it would be under any obligation to tell the truth if it were simply a figment created by the trauma of wartime and near-death experiences.“I’m real,” the image says, bending slightly to be on eye level with Ignis. “As far as I can tell, I’m as real as the godsdamned Kings of Yore. I’m also dead, so take that however you want.”
Relationships: Ignis Scientia/Nyx Ulric
Comments: 6
Kudos: 44





	All Turns to Silver Glass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notthelasttime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthelasttime/gifts).



> Title taken from LOTR.  
> I've never written Ignyx before. For that matter, I've never written Nyx before. It's been a fun adventure.

“Looks like you got a pretty raw deal.”

Ignis turns on impulse more than anything else, hiding a hiss of pain behind clenched teeth. He never heard anyone enter his room, but somehow someone has.

Or perhaps not.

A human silhouette has broken the muted darkness that Ignis has been growing to live with between bouts of unconsciousness these last two weeks. It is indefinite, constructed in the same shifting planes of light and crystal that Ignis has become quite familiar with through his exposure to Lucian magic. As it moves, shifting restlessly on its feet, its movements create ripples of light that expand across the floor and onto furniture and fixtures, blocking out the room in outlines that Ignis had only been able to vaguely guess at before now. 

Ignis fights the urge to rub at his remaining eye, fused shut for the foreseeable future, knowing that entertaining the impulse would grant him nothing but pain and a lecture from the somewhat perplexed doctor overseeing his recovery. Ignis may be going insane, but he can’t argue with the light pulsing through the void that his room once was, perfectly outlining the folds of blankets crumpled beneath his hands. “What are you?”

The figure steps closer, tilting the suggestion of a head as it comes to a stop a foot from Ignis, the misty light emanating from it curling out like steam from a freshly opened rice cooker toward Ignis’s legs thrown over the side of the bed. “You can see me?”

“In a way,” Ignis replies quietly, all too aware of how this may look to anyone who was to come in. While he has no proof that this apparition is invisible to anyone but himself, he has a feeling that it may be. He can’t explain it. “Am I to assume you are more than a… hallucination?”  
  
Not that it would be under any obligation to tell the truth if it were simply a figment created by the trauma of wartime and near-death experiences.

“I’m real,” the image says, bending slightly to be on eye level with Ignis. “As far as I can tell, I’m as real as the godsdamned Kings of Yore. I’m also dead, so take that however you want.”

The voice and cadence are familiar. Not overly so, but Ignis has a feeling this is someone he may have been on cordial terms with once upon a time. A friendly acquaintance, of which Ignis had many in the Crown City due to his position leaving him in the path of a great deal of people he was expected to have ties with. The fact that this person —a man, perhaps, though Ignis is loathe to assume that sort of thing through voice alone— is dead does very little to narrow down the possibilities these days.

“To whom am I speaking?” Ignis resists the urge to reach out, to run his hand through the light that’s creating the first visual reference Ignis has had for his surroundings since those last desperate porings into the visage of his prince on the Altar of the Tidemother. Ignis can’t help but feel oddly grateful for this spirit’s assistance —intentional or not— in letting him perceive what lay around him. “I feel I know you, but I am afraid I cannot recall the particulars…”

“Nyx Ulric,” the outline of the man shifts, an irreverent two-fingered salute suggested in the motion. “Former Glaive, former hero. The only other person in the history of Eos who was _blessed_ enough to be worthy of using the king’s little trinket without royal blood. Might have killed me in the end, but it was enough for the Ring to decide I belonged with it rather than living it up in whatever comes After.”

Ignis knew of Nyx Ulric’s fate. Reports from the few Glaives who made it out of Insomnia reported his use of the Ring, though no one was quite sure what happened to him afterward, only that he was able to call the Old Wall somehow. Ignis swallows. “‘Belonging with it…?’”

“Can’t move on, but I’m not exactly hanging out with the Lucii either. I guess I’m not quite qualified to dedicate any power to that disaster of a power structure, but the Ring isn’t quite willing to let me go, so. I’m somewhere inbetween. Separate from the _right_ type of people but not allowed to leave either,” Nyx seems to notice Ignis’s unease. “My guess? You’ll end up like this too someday. Something to look forward to after you bite it. Fun, right? Trapped to serve a power that won’t actually let you serve it with dignity. It’s about as Lucian as it gets.”

Ignis is hit by the sudden urge to tear his room apart. A delayed display of frustration, of anger. Unhinged panic and fury condensed into moments of frivolous destruction. Surely no one could begrudge him that after what he has been through. Not even the dead man lighting the darkness of Ignis’s world, used and imprisoned by magic he had only used for the sake of preserving the very bloodline the Lucii are meant to protect.

The door opens. Nyx freezes and then steps to the side, out of the way of the person who has entered the room without announcing themselves. Ignis has the tentative idea that it is Prompto, as he tends to forget to knock when he is in a hurry.

“Were you talking to someone just now?”

Mark one down in the correct column.

Ignis shakes his head. Prompto hums noncommittally, then touches Ignis’s shoulder with no warning. If he notices the barely-suppressed flinch Ignis can’t help but make, he wisely says nothing.

“I’m sorry for barging in but I thought you’d want to know as soon as possible. Noct’s finally awake.”

»»———— ★ ————««

“Gladio’s right,” Noct says. He’s still laying in bed, the same way he has been since he was placed there unconscious a month prior, only getting up to perfunctorily maintain himself at Prompto and Ignis’s insistence. Ignis has visited him many times, sitting or sleeping in the overstuffed chair he pulled up beside the bed a while back. Nyx stands at the door, almost as if he were on guard duty despite not having much of an effect on the real world in the slightest. He seems to have gathered how much more self-assured Ignis seems when Nyx is close by, though Ignis has not shared the way that Nyx’s presence acts as an odd, magical sort of radar or echolocation in the absence of Ignis’s sight. He stays close and rarely brings up things he overhears from Ignis’s talks with his listless, traumatized king. 

“What do you mean?” Ignis asks. Gladio has been saying many things lately, very few of them agreeable considering the circumstances. Ignis is well aware that Gladio’s irritability and over-focus on logic is probably due to misplaced grief and guilt over his father, the City, Ignis, and gods know what else over the course of their journey, but Ignis can’t say he has much patience for it regardless of the actual source of Gladio’s behavior. His inability to consider Noct’s worsening mental illness and slow physical recovery has done little to endear Ignis to Gladio of late, though with time Ignis knows Gladio will regret his behavior.

This is an interesting development, though. Noctis has never agreed with something Gladio has said in one of his moods in any sincere manner. Ignis leans forward in his seat, planting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his clasped hands. “May I ask to what you are referring?”

“I can’t take you with us,” Noctis doesn’t sound sure about it, the conviction his voice used to hold gone in the wake of the last straw in the haystack of tragedies he has endured through his short life. Regardless, the air is punched from Ignis’s lungs in a second, and he feels like the ground is crumbling beneath him. “It’s too dangerous to drag you to Gralea with us. You’ll just… you’ll just get hurt or _worse_ and it will be my fault. Because I told you to come, and you will. If I told you to, you will.”

Ignis sucks in a breath, willing his heart to slow its breakneck pace. “I am capable of making my own choices. I can judge whether or not I am well enough to continue.”

“Just don’t,” and here some of the life returns to Noct, the tension underneath those two words condensing them, sharpening their edges to points and closing the space between each letter until the statement is more tangible than the man haunting the stretch of wall beside the door. “ _Don’t_. Ignis,” his voice cracks. “I can’t lose you, too. Please, just stay here or… go back to Lucis with Cid. Don’t follow us. I can’t… I can’t do it.”

The denial of Ignis’s purpose, the promise he made to see his king —his beloved brother in all but blood— happily through his life when his own father could not, cuts his nerve to pieces. He stands, searching for his cane and coming up empty until Nyx shifts minutely by the door, the movement sending a wave through the room. Ignis takes up the cane and navigates around the bed to leave the room, not trusting himself to try to look back upon the suggestion of Noctis’s shape outlined in crystalline blue. “Very well. If that is what you want, I will remain while you move forward. I ask that you inform me of your departure before you take it, at least.”

Noct makes a wordless noise of assent, and Ignis can hear from the doorway that he is choking up the way he does when he is trying not to cry in front of someone. Ignis grants him the kindness of privacy, and closes the door after Nyx slides out of the room behind him.

Once the two of them are ensconced in Ignis’s room, Ignis gingerly sits on the edge of his bed. He hasn’t thought any further than that, so he does nothing further. He sits and watches light pulse across the floor.

“Scientia—”

“I ask that you leave me alone,” Ignis whispers, trying to ignore the way his voice sounds scraped and tremulous even to himself. “I mean no disrespect, Glaive Ulric, but I would prefer not to have company at the moment.”

Nyx flickers for a moment, uncertainty palpable in his hesitation before he and his light disappear from Ignis’s perception.

Ignis buries his head in his hands.

»»———— ★ ————««

Ignis is left in Altissia one week later. The next week sees him on Lucian shores as the sunlight begins to fade from the sky.

»»———— ★ ————««

“Scientia.”

Ignis secures the gauze with medical tape, pulling lightly on the edge to ensure it is secure. He takes his dagger back up, ignoring the twinge of pain in the injured finger he just dressed, and tries to reverse his grip again, flicking his wrist up and clutching for the dagger hilt in the air though he can already tell he has overshot it. He could have done this with his eyes closed not long ago, but now everything he does has an edge of uncertainty to it that he can’t shake.

“Scientia.”

The dagger hits the floor with a clatter. Ignis cringes, searching about with the toe of his shoe before stooping to retrieve the blade with a careful grasp. 

Movement. Blue-white crystal spreads through the room in pulses not unlike a heartbeat. Ignis sighs. A figure steps around him and takes the dagger from his loose grip, the touch somewhere between solid and insubstantial in a way that Ignis can’t wrap his head around. The dagger lights with magic and melts into the same ever-shifting enigmatic light that forms the remains of Nyx Ulric.

“What is it, Glaive?”

“You’re hurting yourself.”

“A simple mistake,” Ignis is compelled to try to snatch his weapon back from Nyx, but can’t bring himself to try touching the shade under his own power. While Nyx has touched Ignis on occasion, it feels like the illusion may shatter if Ignis were the one to initiate. “Nothing more than that. Training is rife with such things.”

“Bull,” Nyx moves backward, taking Ignis’s dagger with him. “I’ve seen my fair share of soldiers in the training room, and I’ve seen more than my fair share of soldiers who’ve stopped caring. Soldiers using training to ignore what they should try dealing with.”

“You don’t know me,” Ignis replies too quickly, bristling. “I have work to do. I am _working_. Being a Glaive hardly gives you the knowledge nor the right required to psychoanalyze me, and your absurd insinuation that I’m sinking into some sort of self-pitying episode through training is enough proof of that fact to satisfy any jury.”

“Damn,” Nyx laughs under his breath, just barely audible in the cramped closet of a studio apartment that Ignis has temporarily been assigned until a permanent arrangement can be found by the end of the week. “Say what you will, but you’re taking a break. I don’t want you joining me in limbo any sooner than you’re supposed to. Eat something for gods’ sake.”

Nyx departs and it takes Ignis longer than it should to realize that Nyx took the dagger with him.

»»———— ★ ————««

“Leave me be.”

“No.”

“Why do you care?” Ignis grits out. He’s been lingering on the roof of the Leville since news arrived from Niflheim earlier in the day. The king’s retainers are returning to Lucis with no king.

Ignis knows that it is only a matter of time before the vision he saw in Altissia comes to pass. He is powerless to stop it. He can’t even hold himself together. There’s no point to him now, honestly. Not when his whole life was dedicated to someone who is destined to only take the throne long enough to be pinned on it like a photograph on the universe’s bloodiest joke of a corkboard display.

“We’re in this together, Scientia. I can’t have you quitting on me now.”

Barely restraining himself from spitting out that it will hardly make any difference to a dead man whether one more person dies sooner than expected, Ignis stalks toward the fire escape and steps on it, bemoaning the fact that a rickety metal set of stairs is the only way on and off the rooftop. This place was one of Prompto’s common haunts whenever his insomnia hit during a visit to Lestallum during the road trip, and Ignis isn’t quite sure how someone so afraid of heights enjoyed being up here so much. It has certainly afforded Ignis no comfort in this time of need. “Are you satisfied that I have no plans on throwing myself down to the streets to assuage my nonexistent death wish?”

Well. Mostly nonexistent, anyway. He still has Gladio and Prompto after all. They would not handle Ignis’s shuffling from this mortal coil well, especially not Prompto after whatever major event he went through on the way to Niflheim. The message they sent ahead glossed over it, but Ignis doesn’t have a good feeling about whatever it had been.

The fire escape creaks beneath Ignis’s feet.

“I cannot say I am looking toward the future with any sort of hope,” Ignis can’t help the sardonic smile that curves his lips at the reference to vision. “But I am not the sort to lay down and let the daemons take me, regardless of what lay ahead.”

“I thought not,” Nyx follows Ignis onto the fire escape, tapping Ignis’s shoulder as if they’re friends who had just finished sparring. The involuntary shiver that ripples through Ignis at the contact is thankfully hidden by the thick jacket he has taken to wearing when the temperature finally dropped the week before. It was about time, considering that October has closed its doors on Eos and November has rushed in with the enthusiasm of a child eager to show their parent the lady beetle they’ve trapped in a cage of threaded fingers. “While I barely knew you before the world went to hell, you never struck me as the— shit, Ignis!”

A hand grasps and then not-grasps and slips from the back of Ignis’s jacket as the metal beneath him lets out an unholy shriek and bends under his weight as the entire structure rattles. Ignis scrambles for purchase on the wall that this level of the fire escape had once been securely bolted to, finding no handholds in the hotel’s uniform stone facade. Rapid bursts of light outline the severe tilt of the platform as its remaining supports strain and groan. Ignis has not a moment to notice anything more as the fire escape lets out a final tortured screech.

Ignis falls.

»»———— ★ ————««

The world turns on its axis as Ignis slams into a hard surface, his breath driven from him as he skids sideways, scraping his hands as he tries to stop. The sudden flip from falling to sliding has him disoriented and woozy with no visual input to guide him, unable to tell which way is up. 

“Ignis, are you okay?”

Ignis tries to open his eyes, but the muscles in his face pull at sealed eyelids and a stretch of skin so scarred that no eyelids exist there anymore. He wheezes out an unintelligible attempt at an acknowledgement as he searches for Nyx, who ends up being pressed close behind Ignis on the ground. His features are suddenly much more clear than they had been before. Where there had once only been a vague humanoid shape, there is now the suggestion of a coat, of braided hair, of hands with five fingers, of a face. Ignis can’t help but take it in for a moment, picking out the hints of an appearance that he never put to memory as well as he probably should have back in Insomnia.

“Nyx? What happened?”

Nyx presses something into Ignis’s hands. Ignis closes his grip on it without thinking, and investigates the object to discover a dagger. His own dagger, the one Nyx had confiscated from him several weeks back. 

“I warped us to the roof of the building across the alley. Didn’t know I still could but,” Nyx clears his throat. “There was no way you would have survived falling from that fire escape to the ground and then having the rest of it crush you for good measure.”

Ignis realizes he is shaking. He clutches one hand in the other to try to ease the trembling, but the sting of raw skin pressing against raw skin makes him give up that effort in no time. “You saved my life.”

“I’m supposed to be some sort of hero, aren’t I?” Nyx says it automatically, his form leaning closer to Ignis as he speaks. Ignis leans forward to meet him as Nyx extends his arms and wraps them around Ignis, cold-hot and there-not all at once. “I’m not letting it happen again.”  
  
Ignis doesn’t ask what Nyx means. Some things are all too clear when a soldier like Nyx says them. The destruction of Galahd and the Galahdian conscription did no favors for the shattered remains of its people.

“I don’t want this,” Ignis imparts that little secret into the plane of light approximating Nyx’s shoulder. “I don’t want any of this.”  
  
Nyx practically jumps away from Ignis, his hands drawing in to himself. Ignis makes a noise without realizing, reaching back out to take hold of the front of Nyx’s shirt. 

“I don’t mean you.”

Ignis cries on the roof of an overcrowded apartment building in Lestallum while the sun struggles to rise through the dark haze that has overtaken the sky. He is held, and not held, by a man who died eight months before.

»»———— ★ ————««

“It’s good to see you,” Prompto says, before stammering out an apology at his wording that Ignis brushes off with a smile. He hugs Ignis, quick but not overly so, and Ignis notices in dismay just how waifish Prompto has become in their time away from one another. “How’re you holding up, Iggy?”  
  
“Well enough,” Ignis tucks his worry back for a moment. Best not to overwhelm Prompto within minutes of his return. He always became flighty whenever someone showed genuine concern for him and there is no reason why that would not still be the case. “I’ve been relearning how to cook these past few days, if you’d humor me tonight?”

“Sure thing,” Prompto lets go of Ignis fully and steps back, allowing him room that he didn’t ask for but is hardly going to relinquish back in explicit terms. “I gotta find out where I’m staying, but I’ll be back later. Don’t go anywhere, alright?”

Ignis agrees not to vanish into thin air and Prompto leaves shortly after, leaving Ignis to his little apartment and his half-finished lunch.

“Little guy’s not looking so hot, huh?”

“I couldn’t say.”

Nyx taps his fingers on the table, allowing Ignis enough of a reference to sit back down to complete his meal without having to consider how many steps he was taking. Ignis had finally spoken up about Nyx’s effect on what Ignis is able to… _see_ , for lack of a better term. Now Nyx seems to make a habit to move around every once in a while, creating the rippling light through space that helps Ignis get around. People have started to make comments about how well Ignis is adjusting to his disability, and Ignis is never sure what to say in response so he usually just thanks them and stews in the awkward feeling later.

“What are you going to do now that your friends are back?”  
  
Ignis pulls at the crust of his last miniature sandwich, satisfied by the way that it comes off all in one strip under his manipulations. “What do you mean?”  
  
“Well,” Nyx leans back in his chair, idly kicking the table leg closest to him just enough to make the table rattle. “They left you and now they’re back. What are you going to do? Make them dinner? Smile and nod and act like they didn’t abandon you?”  
  
“They didn’t have a choice,” Ignis places the remains of his sandwich back on his plate. “I would have been a hindrance and time was of the essence. They had to find the Crystal and could not afford to make allowances for me.”

“See, I think that’s bullshit. Gladio, he was the one who convinced Noctis to leave you behind, right? Why would the king be better off without his advisor?”  
  
“When he is going into an active war zone and his advisor is newly blinded and can’t walk on his own much less fight or offer strategies on the fly.”

“With me you could have.”

“What was I supposed to do, Nyx?” Ignis pushes his plate across the table, giving up on the rest of his meal and excusing himself from the table. “How would I have explained this? How would I have explained _you_ ? You, to a man who just lost his betrothed on top of his family, his home, and his life? In what way is it fair that I am allowed the company of the dead when he was not, despite his yearning for the company of those that gave their lives for him? How would that have helped him move forward and fulfil his duty? He would not turn back. I know. I _tried_ to tell him that it would be alright to go back to Lucis and lay low, to live a quiet life and be happy with the time we have left. He wouldn’t take it. How could I shake his resolve so heavily after he swore to do what needed to be done?”

Nyx apologizes later that night, his outline jagged and juddering with his unease. “I didn’t know you as well as I ought to have. Really, I don’t know you the way I should either.”

Ignis pauses in pulling back the covers of his bed. “Would you like to?”

“To…?”

“Know me,” Ignis pauses, taking the time to tuck himself under the blankets and remove his visor, placing it delicately on the nightstand. “We are in this together. When I die, we will be the same. For now, we are not. Would you like to know in what ways we differ?”

Nyx hovers beside Ignis. “How… so?”

Ignis reaches up, taking hold of the Nyx’s right forearm and pulling him down to Ignis’s level. His hand falls through Nyx’s outline one second, then finds itself once again pressing into something human. Someone human. “Any way you would like.”

If Ignis didn’t know any better, he could almost guess that Nyx was smiling.

»»———— ★ ————««

“Do you think it will work?”

“It should,” Ignis frowns, running through the last few lines of text on his braille terminal one more time. “I can’t say anything with certainty, but considering what was left in the Tomb of the Clever… the correlation with the Obside Accounts is undeniable. Our own connection is such that an argument could be made that it could be replicated. It will be difficult, but I don’t believe either of us expected ease.”

“If there’s any chance this can save your king, it will be worth the effort.”

“We’ll have to let the others know,” Nyx posits. “Are you going to be able to handle that?”

“My companions temporarily doubting my sanity is preferable to doing nothing and letting Noctis die.”

“Noted.”

Ignis sends off a message to Cor, Gladio, and Prompto and settles in to wait after receiving confirmation from each that they will be able to make it to Ignis’s apartment in an hour. Nyx sits heavily onto the couch beside Ignis and a press of lips ghosts —literally, actually— over Ignis’s temple.

“Excited for it to all be coming together?”

“In a way,” Ignis can’t quite believe how long it has been. The world has been crashing and burning for three long years, and all of Eos has been condensed down to a few Lucian outposts and rumors of self sufficient magitek facilities scattered through the remains of Niflheim and Tenebrae. Though Ignis has no idea when Noctis is set to return, he can guess at five more years or so judging from what Noct looked like in those few agonizing glimpses Ignis got of the future he hopes to avert. “Above that, I am relieved to have found something that remains promising after scrutiny.”

Ignis feels almost as if this last phase of his life has been little more than a haze of food shortages, daemon attacks, riots, interpersonal crises, unending research, and retraining himself to do much of what he used to be effortlessly capable of. The phase has been cut through only by his involvement with Nyx, his tentative mentorship of Talcott, —now a curious if somewhat somber ten year old— and frequent visits from Prompto who has never quite recovered from his travels in Niflheim but remains a light in the dark regardless, so to speak.

The thought that tonight may finally see some of Ignis’s work paid off is astounding. It is rare that he ever got to enjoy the direct effect of any of his efforts in years past, as for the most part very little of anything he did in service to the Crown was for himself. The one exception was guiding and caring for Noctis, which offered reward enough for Ignis to tolerate the thankless work he did for other facets of his job.

Anyway.

Nyx looks more concrete these days to Ignis, his features clear more days than not. If Ignis had to describe Nyx’s ethereal appearance, Ignis would compare him to a stylized hologram of sorts. Similar to those in a particular series of science fiction films that Noctis would cajole Ignis into watching marathons of when Noct was bed bound as a child. Nyx tapped into it once, quoting lines from several characters when Ignis was doing his level best to concentrate on a braille copy of an old mythological tome Talcott had transcribed for him with slate and stylus. Eventually Ignis resorted to putting the transcription aside and pressing his hands to Nyx’s cheeks, waiting until his touch stabilized before leaning in for a kiss to quell the rambling.

That had appeared to be what Nyx had been hoping for, so.

It had been a good night.

The first person to arrive is Cor, ten minutes prior to the agreed-upon time. Nyx helpfully raps his heel on the floor from where he sits to clue Ignis in to Cor’s position as he moves through the entryway, though Ignis has gotten good enough at knowing these things through sound alone at this point that he doesn’t particularly need it. Nyx’s everlasting concern for Ignis’s assumed needs is something that has infuriated Ignis at times —he is hardly incapable— but is still thoughtful enough to leave a warm feeling in his chest.

Gladio and Prompto arrive together, oddly enough. It is rare that Gladio spends much time with anyone from the old quartet these days, but he can be wrangled into crashing on Ignis’s couch or in Prompto’s bed every once in a while if he’s caught at the right time. It took a considerable amount of time for him to stop radiating guilt in Ignis’s presence, but they’ve gotten there.

“So,” Cor starts once they all settle in at the dining table. There’s only three chairs as Ignis got this incomplete set secondhand shortly after being assigned this apartment, so Ignis stands in the free space where the final chair would be. Nyx stands behind him, a palpable presence in the room to Ignis if no one else. “You said you found something important?”

“That’s right,” Ignis places the composite file of his findings, color-coded and sorted with Nyx’s help, on the table and pushes it toward the center. “I do believe I have found a way to end the Long Night without Noctis losing his life.”

“How?” Gladio sounds about as skeptical as Ignis expected, though there’s hope woven under his voice and through the tilt of his head that Ignis can just barely see through the Crystal-lit impression Nyx’s influence provides.

Ignis steels himself, over-conscious of the brush of a hand against his own. “What do you all know of Nyx Ulric?”


End file.
